


Business Vale

by Safetypants (Dangersocks)



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Anal, BDSM, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Bad Ending, Bad Things Happen To Carlos, Bad Things Happen To Cecil, Blood and Gore, Boss/Employee Relationship, Cock Rings, Drug Use, Dubious Consent, Humiliation, M/M, Manipulative Relationship, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Power Imbalance, Power Play, Rape/Non-con Elements, Strexcorp, Threats of Violence, Unhappy Ending, Unhealthy Relationships, Violence, bad things happen to Earl
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-13
Updated: 2015-01-13
Packaged: 2018-03-07 10:23:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3171368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dangersocks/pseuds/Safetypants
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Not everyone is a team player.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Business Vale

**Author's Note:**

> Originally, I was inspired by [Videntefernandez](http://videntefernandez.tumblr.com/)'s Diego and Kevin, and was given permission to let them run the show. But I take full responsibility for this interpretation of them. These two may be outdated now, what with how characters evolve and change and grow followers. I'm very out of the fanon loop and I know that. Sorry. :( 
> 
> (Ao3 tags claim Diego has a last name. What?! I knew about the heels but...)
> 
> \--
> 
> [M_Moonshade](http://archiveofourown.org/users/M_Moonshade/pseuds/M_Moonshade) edited this, and a several others deserve my gratitude. Not only for the willingness to listen to me explain this, but also for not making me feel like a bad person afterwards. 
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you.
> 
> -
> 
> Finally, **ALL OF THE DISCLAIMERS** Truly. There are many things wrong in this story and I condone none of it in reality. If you are bothered by non-consentual scenes, implied **VERY VIOLENCE** , or you are looking for a happy ending, please know that you are alone. The room is closing in. You can turn away now and we won't chase you.
> 
> (Go to sleep.)

He finds it easy to remember how to reminisce when he is far from home. He goes abroad often enough, and his mind is allowed to wander to ‘what could have been’ when he is under questionable sheets in unfamiliar beds. Night Vale still exists and it does not change, in these secret moments. The terror he had known then is different. It becomes more manageable, somehow, in nostalgia. He used to talk to children in order to help them survive, which is laughable. Truly. He barely survives the present without having brand name products applied regularly.

When had been the last time he had run for his life?

He is far from home, he thinks. Farther than he has ever been, but this distance does not count as running. He once used to know how to disappear.

The memory entertains him, despite the sleeping pills. The sleep-aids rarely do much for him. He is conscious enough to hear the knock at his door. He flickers a gummy stare at the hotel clock in reply, where anyone else on the prescribed and mandatory cocktails would be lost for several more hours.

Three o’clock.

The knock again, this time rhythmed. _Tap-taptap-tap-tap: Tap tap!_

His eyes snap wide. Here? Now!? But --

The sleep-aids never work for Earl Harlan. He suspects that his employers know this too.

“Wakey wakey,” sings a voice, far too loudly for the hour. Far too loudly to be considerate of the other sleeping guests.

Earl shuts his eyes, but only briefly. He already knows that there will be no more guests. Kevin, after all, would never shout to wake them. That would be rude.

So much for dreams, Earl thinks, dragging himself to his feet to answer the tap-tap-tapping at his door. Even Kyoto is not far enough away.

He once knew how to disappear.

He smiles when Kevin smiles at him. The door is one less barrier between him and the bloody floor. “What a surprise!” It really is.

Kevin stands slick and blissful in the hallway lighting, his thin arms hugging a plastic, black and gore-splattered briefcase. “May I come in?”

Earl tenses, but wears his smile like a professional. He is a good StrexCorp™ employee, after all. “Why would you ever feel the need to ask?”

-

The vibration makes the man tense. It makes him glance without moving his head, eyes sliding to the window, to the left, to the blinding noon-sun that streams in from behind the wall of outside’s bustle of people. He steals that look as if he is being watched.

Everyone wears a suit now, though. Everyone watches.

His own suit pocket vibrates a second time. It is with just enough force to know the caller.

He blinks. He takes the small cup from his tray and quaffs it back automatically, the sweet liquid coating his throat. The sandwich, half eaten, is no longer important. He won’t want it soon. He better hurry.

Cecil Palmer rises, vacating his hard earned seat in the cafe. It had been a prize on this busy Tuesday.

He knows better than to ignore a summons.

The clock in the square, newly added since the take-over, inches a golden hand past the five. The noon hour traffic is thick and flowing. Cecil dodges through the bodies in the promenade, moving himself towards the building that rises above everything. It is imposing, like the Spire. Newer than the Spire. A replacement for the Spire. Cecil isn’t supposed to be thinking about the Spire.

He swallows, the walklight changing as his dash mimics the syrupy liquid taste in his mouth. Reluctant. Creeping. Automatic.

There is not a cloud in the sky and it is simply the summer temperature that makes him warm. Cecil crosses a concrete parkway and then glass doors part. Everything shines with polish and perfection. The regulated air cuts off the noises from the street. The text message could only have come thirty seconds ago.

He glances at the cameras as if to say he is moving quickly. Determinedly. The cameras agree as the lobby is shattered by a chime. A particular elevator slides open its doors. He doesn’t glance back to see the concerned faces following after him. Cecil enters the maw without showing any hesitation.

Lunch hour. Anything can happen over lunch hour.

The elevator is entirely mirrors. Mirrors and cameras. The other lifts do not have this decor, but they also do _not_ climb to the top floor. The stomach drops from Cecil as he ascends. He keeps his posture straight and his breathing normal. He keeps his thoughts quiet, which should be easy after the dosage he has consumed.

The lift eventually chimes again and Cecil greets the large room that so few see, and fewer still leave afterwards. He starts with his usual habit of clearing his throat and stepping slowly out as if he were uninvited.

He is _always_ invited.

There is no receptionist. The elevator opens directly into the cavernous space of burgundy-blood carpet, a desk large enough to fill Cecil’s living room, and wide windows overlooking where Night Vale and Desert Bluffs joins u-- _no_. Correction: -- where the Greater Desert Bluffs Metropolitan Area exists. The windows are tinted now, blocking out the sun and rendering all shapes beyond into deceptive silhouettes.

It is just the two of them, which surprises Cecil. Always, there is Kevin. The Personal Assistant to the CEO is absent, though.

This does not allow him to relax. _...the only thing more terrifying than seeing the Devil is no longer being able to see the Devil..._

Cecil clears his throat a second time.

“Oh please, don’t be so formal.” The suave, dulcet tone of the man in charge is painfully, awfully perfect. “You’re an important part of the team and it is so unlike you to be quiet.”

Cecil frantically thinks back to anything he may have said this morning that could have been misconstrued. Honestly, he has a track record of letting his mouth run freely but lately, _oh lately_ , he has been good. He occupies his tongue by having it cling to the fading sweetness against his teeth. He has been good, yet he waits for his boss to reveal another example of Cecil’s imperfections. Then, the inevitable cure will follow...

A sharp, gold name plate that simply says “Diego: CEO” reflects StrexCorp™’s Public Relations officer as he warily approaches the imposing desk. Its surface still bleeds organic pieces of whispering pinewood. The Chief Executive Officer is staring at his laptop with an intense focus. Cecil is already familiar with the dark skin and slick hair of the other. He knows that structured jaw and perfect smiling, _smiling_ teeth very well. They flash now at something on the screen, before Diego glances up at his silent, nervous employee.

“I said something,” reminds the man.

“Sir?” Cecil asks. His voice feels small and he does not know what to do with his hands.

Diego shifts, drifting away from his computer to fully regard the PR officer that he has summoned. “I said to _relax_ ,” he paraphrases. “I would think we would be beyond formalities and pretenses. I also observed that it is not like you to be so quiet.”

“If I have said something…” Cecil quickly inputs.

He stops when Diego cuts in with a sharp sigh. “You are _not_ in trouble, Mister Palmer. Though perhaps our last education session had been a little too...throuough.”

“No, Sir,” Cecil chirps. “It was...I deserved it, but --”

“But?”

Swallowing, Cecil stares at the glaze of gore trapped under the varnish of the pine desk. “You called me, and you keep implying that I am being too silent…”

“Because I have need of your voice,” cheers Diego, brightening. “Really, you are _not_ in trouble. And I admire your hustle in coming so quickly when called. I need you to make a phone call.”

Cecil’s insides unclench. Phone calls are doable. Phone calls are easy. “Of course, Sir. To whom?”

Smiling tightly as he motions Cecil around the desk to where his personal phone sits at his elbow, Diego says, “Just to the Head of our Research and Development department. I decided that you were the best person to make this call.”

Cecil nearly stumbles into the side of the desk at the mention. He almost says the name of the department’s head aloud.

_Carlos._

The phone is pushed an inch towards him by the press of impeccably manicured fingers. “Can you handle that?” comes a curious question.

The Public Relationship officer nods. If he is paling, it is only because he has not finished his lunch. He completes his circuit of the oversized desk and stands uncomfortably close to his boss on his side of the table.

From here, the room reflects itself in the table’s polish. The mirror-like qualities of this angle leave Cecil even more unsettled. But he cannot turn away or his peripherals warn him of how close the other man is. The laptop is tilted, revealing dark shadows. The illusion of the angle is not unlike how the old Station Management used to appear through frosted glass. Remembering them causes an ache to the PR officer’s heart.

_When did this get so wrong?_ he asks himself. It almost sounds like one of those thoughts that produces an investigation. A documentary, even.

He stops the thought immediately. He knows to stop the thought before it grows, just as he knows the number of his boyfriend’s department by heart. Feeling the weight of his boss’s stare picking him apart, Cecil lifts up the gold receiver and presses each of the buttons as if he were setting nails into a coffin.

He knows by the dial tone why he is so shaken. He is afraid of Diego, but he knows he is useful. Required, even. And Cecil can promptly fulfill a convoking because he has survived them before. This should be simple, with Kevin away and Diego insisting that Cecil has done nothing wrong.

But if Cecil has done nothing wrong…

“What do you need the R&D department for?” Cecil dares asking, foolishly risking old journalistic habits. Every single visit that Cecil makes to Diego’s realm had never involved the scientist and this scares him.

Diego hums, shifting again in his leather chair to smile at the laptop. “We’ve gone ahead with testing out one of the department’s inventions, and I think that our Head of Research and Development would be interested in...the results.”

The buzzing on the receiver stops. Another caramel voice picks up where Diego’s ends. “R&D’s head Carlos speaking.”

“Carlos,” breathes Cecil carefully.

“Cecil?”

Knowing that he has Carlos’ full attention, and concerned that the other may say or do something that might cross the line between personal and business, Cecil quickly says, “I’m calling you on behalf of the CEO. From...from his desk.”

“From his...oh. Um. Of course.”

Diego brandishes his perfect teeth, which means that Carlos will be somewhere hiding his. The executive officer observes his impromptu liaison and says, “Please tell our R&D Head that I have taken the liberty of getting a prototype drafted from the blueprints he’s made for the engineering project for our tiny town allies.”

Cecil scrunches his toes inside polished black shoes, but conveys the mouthful. “Our employer had me call to say that he drafted a...prototype of your project for those under Lane Five.”

Diego keeps his grin as he glances back to whatever his computer displays. He may be pleased with what he sees, or content with what information Cecil has conveyed.

From the other end of the line, Carlos is silent. Then, he is not. “Cecil, I haven’t...my department hasn’t been working on anything for...for them. The...for our…”

“Allies,” Cecil finishes, reminding Carlos gently that this is so. That it must be so and that it can’t be Carlos who, for personal reasons, may ignore or forgets this. The Public Relations officer glances at Diego and the man does not react at the correction. He is currently focused with his monitor.

Carlos sighs. “Yes, Cecil. I...haven’t done any projects for _them_.”

Unsure if he is meant to wait for Diego's prompt, Cecil coughs lightly. “Sir, uh...Carlos, er, our R&D Head, he says his department is not at work on anything regarding...that.”

Diego tilts his head and raises an eyebrow. His expression does not falter any further. “Oh, I know it was not officially one of their projects. This was one they were privately creating. I gained access to their files and was pleased with how productive and proactive they were being.”

Cecil keeps his own face from shifting into a look of terror. It takes work. Carlos is not supposed to be doing secret projects, but being caught…

The Public Relations officer quickly sorts through every nuance in his superior’s tone and is unable to find the unworded threats or hidden meanings. The CEO motions for Cecil to relay his words.

“He...Diego found your plans.”

“For the excavation and deep mining,” interrupts the seated man, clarifying.

Cecil repeats that as Carlos inhales sharply.

“Diego would like to comment on your Department’s productivity,” adds Cecil, hoping the news continues to be assuring.

The former radio host thinks he hears the plastic receiver on the other end creak in his partner’s grip. Carlos whispers, “Those were unfinished. The plans weren’t meant to be accessible _at all_ , Cecil.”

It could be an apology, though Cecil thinks the developer is pleading to his boyfriend first for forgiveness. He lowers the phone and tells his employer, “Carlos had made those unavailable because they were incomplete.”

“How much does he have?” Carlos’ question is hissed through the line like a secret.

Diego cannot hear the words, but perhaps it does not matter. He wears his omnipotence like he wears his crowded, golden rings. “Ah, but a good idea just wants to be betrayed. I took the initiative, as helping our friends in the little city expand their borders is of interest to StrexCorp™. I had been considering some plans myself and it made perfect sense that my...Head of R&D be thinking so similarly.”

“He says,” Cecil communicates, “that he was not surprised you were thinking ahead on helping our _allies_ expand.”

“But how _much_ of those files does he have?” whispers Carlos.

Diego watches Cecil listen, sparing the PR officer the trouble of coming up with an excuse to correspond with whatever he is hearing by stating, “No doubt our head developer is wanting to know what we have made of his work.”

Cecil takes the offering, bobbing his head. “Uh huh, yes! He is most interested in hearing what you’ve done.”

Unable to see Carlos, Cecil imagines him fidgeting. Holding his breath as he holds tight to receiver and tighter still to Cecil’s words. The Public Relations officer is hoping Carlos is calm and safe and perfect in his excuses and alibis. He has no idea what project Carlos should or should not have been working on. He suspects he will soon see as Diego shifts the monitor to share its secrets.

Like all things StrexCorp™ reveals to the former radio host, Cecil expects the worst. He does not expect to see Earl Harlan.

Earl is supposed to be in Kyoto, he thinks. But there Earl is, recorded by a laptop camera with a hotel room behind him. That is not all that flanks the former Scoutmaster.

Kevin’s absence from Diego’s side is explained by him sharing the bed with StrexCorp™’s primary Recruitment Officer. Kevin is dressed while Earl is naked. The red-head is flushed and pointedly not staring at the camera.

Conversationally, Diego states, “We created a prototype, as I have said, of the device the tiny people can use to push into crevices and cracks in their surrounding caverns.”

Cecil barely hears, eyes fixed on his distant friend and how Kevin curls around him. Diego’s Personal Assistant straddles Earl, the heels of his shoes locking against the inside of the naked man’s thighs. These are pried open, exposing Earl and making his erection obvious. A gold ring is squeezed over the swollen member. It rests against Earl’s belly, untouched. Cecil cannot see Earl’s hands and finds himself scanning the video for them to avoid staring at the rest of his afflicted companion.

Kevin’s hollow eyes seek out Cecil’s and he waves a cheerful greeting. “Cecil, hi! Early, it’s Cecil!”

The words are shouted into the trapped man’s ear, but Earl does not comply to raise his head. Rather, he bows his neck further. The computer screen shows him deepening in colour.

Cecil almost misses Carlos’ questions until they are repeated maybe a third or fourth time. “Cecil? Are you there? What’s going on?”

“Earl,” Cecil murmurs, swallowing. “Earl is…”

“Earl is helping us test your friend’s invention,” Diego explains.

“And he is being so helpful,” supplies Kevin. The eyeless man slips his heel higher up Earl’s inner leg. He coos in mock disapproval when this provokes Earl to squirm and writhe.

“They...they have Earl. He’s…” Cecil does not want to express any of this for Carlos.

A touch startles the former radio host. Diego is looking at Cecil in expectation. “You are capable of performing better. _Communicate_ with our developer or I’ll have to do it myself.”

There is a threat there. There are always threats, though. In everything. Far away in Kyoto, Kevin says something to Earl about how it would be a shame for Cecil to disappoint them.

Cecil starts to speak, hoping the right words find their way out of his mouth. “Kevin is in Kyoto, with Earl. A...video conference call is happening. They’re...we’re...testing this...this thing you planned.”

“Oh Gods,” exhales Carlos. “Cecil…”

Because the statement trails off and offers no context for the PR officer, Cecil looks to Diego. He avoids looking at the screen any further. If Carlos knows and won’t share…

“Our developer can’t see it so..what part _exactly_ are you...testing?”

Diego is pleased with the inquiry. “We needed a probe small enough for the little ones to handle, but versatile so it can be put into tight spaces and move about remotely.” He pauses to hold up his thumb, indicating the size and length of the top of his index finger. “With sensors and made for digging and creating tremors to find weak spots in geography. Behold!”

Cecil pales as he comes to understand Carlos’ reaction. As he fails to see the device itself in the video, but by Earl’s swollen member he knows what it is and how it is being beheld.

“We’re testing the battery life,” Kevin announces. “One hour and we’re still at ninety-nine percent! With your permission, Sir, I’ll start applying the different settings.”

Diego taps at the shining surface of the telephone base, and Cecil nods meekly. “They have...outfitted Earl with...with the prototype, Carlos.”

The developer swears softly, losing all pretense of professionality. “How is Earl doing, Cecil?”

“He is...he is compliant.”

Overhearing, Kevin adds, “He is _very_ compliant!”

Ignoring Kevin, Cecil murmurs, “They’re testing out the battery life.”

The sightless other is unoffended, stroking at Earl’s shining cheek.

“Not just endurance,” Diego corrects. “The features too.”

“Also the features,” emits Cecil.

“Which features?” Carlos quickly interjects.

Diego slides his gaze back to his faithful assistant, giving a nod. Kevin picks up a remote from the bed and fondles it playfully. Cecil is only now noticing the red marks on Earl’s chest.

“Which features?” asserts Carlos, sounding desperate. Frantic, even.

Cecil relays the question with less urgency. His mouth is dry and his words fall flat as Earl jerks to attention suddenly. He spasms into the tightening clutch of his keeper, who holds him as he holds a button down. The former Scoutmaster is unable to keep his silence, choking against a wail as his cock leaks and his knees try to close as his body coils in. Kevin prevents this, shushing and petting and giggling.

Cecil’s throat is closing off at the sight. Earl had always been the least helpless of the three of them. Earl had never been as afraid of Kevin as Cecil is. If the former Scout needs to badly touch himself, or free himself of foreign objects, or cum despite the things entrapping him...he could. Earl could subdue Kevin and escape, already immune to their drugs and addictions. Already loathing StrexCorp™ enough to hang onto old gods.

The former Scoutmaster sobs as another button is played with, and Cecil realizes that Earl complies with this for other reasons. He is sent abroad on recruitment drives not because he is simply good at it. It is because he won’t run or do anything to tarnish his company’s name. Not with Cecil and Carlos here, unable to escape.

Hostages. All of them are obedient, frightened…

Earl arcs on the bed, making guttural, strangled sounds. Cecil imagines Kevin’s fully clothed erection pressing against Earl. Diego’s Personal Assistant entwines an arm around the ginger’s throat. Earl’s penis leaks, but he does not cum. He may have been told what might happen if he cannot control himself. Somewhere fingers dig into bedsheets.

“Cecil!” Carlos shouts over the phone. “Talk to me, please!”

“They’re...testing out the features.”

Diego rocks back in his chair. “Please let our R&D Head know we’ve programmed in _all_ of the features.”

Not knowing what that means, Cecil faintly transmits the message.

Over the screen, impossibly far away, Earl is throwing his head back against Kevin, who fondly sucks on an earlobe. There are tears slipping down the Recruiter’s cheeks, catching in odd bursts of hotel light and camera eye.

Carlos’ voice drops. It changes, adopting a seriousness that Cecil has not heard in a long time. Not since their town had been in grave, scientific danger; they were about to move in together; or sign a contract regarding their new occupations and lives.

Their new...perfect lives…

“Cecil, I’m sorry. I am so sorry. Tell Diego I’m sorry. Tell him to take this out on me.”

“I don’t understand,” Cecil whispers.

“You don’t understand because what you don’t know keeps you safe, Cecil. Tell Diego, please. Please tell him it’s my fault and _only mine_.”

Their CEO is blissfully watching Kevin at work. Earl is trembling and trying not to babble.

“Does this have to do with the features, Carlos?” Cecil asks.

A smirk upturns a corner of Diego’s lips. “Oh, that last feature is a doozy. Very bold. Quite imaginative. Is our esteemed inventor spoiling the surprise?”

Carlos floods the line. “Cecil, before it’s too late! Tell him I’ll surrender everything. All plans. Everything! This is on me!”

Diego raises a palm and indicates the receiver. Cecil finds his fingers clenching tighter around its frame. He controls the dialogue and while he is unsure of how to use that resource, its value increases now that it is being taken away.

“Here...here’s Diego,” Cecil comments before handing the golden phone over. He stiffens as his boss takes the item in one hand while his other curls around Cecil’s leg.

A thumb, manicured and covered in polished gold, strokes the seam of Cecil’s tailored pants. “Carlos, Carlos, Carlos...I worry that I sometimes give you too much credit. With all the data you had, relayed by our PR expert -- who is strangely tongue-tied today -- you should have realized that I would not risk that final feature with my precious Kevin so close to the epicenter. Really, it was Kevin’s enthusiasm to test the device that saved you from a very graphic demonstration. Explosives? Carlos, it would be very unbusinesslike for StrexCorp™ to destroy our corporate allies. Why can’t you put old grudges aside like Cecil? It certainly serves him well.”

Diego gives his PR Officer’s thigh an encouraging squeeze. For one moment, Cecil imagines himself grabbing the heavy, gold plated bar engraved with Diego’s name and title, and he sees himself driving it into the man’s perfectly styled skull. On camera, Kevin could watch as his master slumps over to add to the gore and viscera of the tree people making up his desk. Then Earl could overcome his oppressor, allowing Kevin to follow in the same manner. Then Night Vale would be safe. This nightmare would be over.

The thought is brief. It is vivid and almost tangible as adrenaline triggers and Cecil’s heart picks up its pace. Then it -- like many thoughts -- gets caught in the sticky sweet trap of medication and new programming. Obedience.

Cecil leans into the touch because that is what his employer expects.

“Fortunately, Carlos, our God is a forgiving one. This probe _will_ do wonders for our relationship with the Huntokhar followers. And while your ambitions are misplaced, you are still incredibly useful to the company. I think that instead of retraining you, I’ll have you continue to process and observe Kevin’s tests. He’ll continue the experiment and I can transfer the conference call to your office.”

Cecil stares at the screen where Earl digs exhaustively into the sheets with scrabbling nails. Kevin glances at something out of Cecil’s sight and sing-songs, “Ninety-four percent, even with most of the features!”

“Are we understanding one another and our positions?” Diego purrs into the mouthpiece.

Cecil stays perfectly still as he is held, not allowing himself to deflate. To shake. Carlos is only trying to help, he thinks. Only trying to bring Night Vale back from where it is buried. Cecil wishes he had known, if only to keep Carlos from being caught. Or to help the other better hide his plans.

“I expect the experiment you are observing will take all day, but I’ll keep your Cecil company until then. Yes, Kevin is not here and someone needs to fill that vacancy. What do you say, then? Very good, and you are _very_ welcome. It is nice to be reminded of how smart you can be, Carlos…”

When Diego hands back the phone, Cecil puts it to his ear. He does not know if catching the closing click and following dial tone is a blessing. He hangs up as Diego asks Kevin if he understands what follows. There is a flash of sharp teeth assuring Diego that his Personal Assistant is eager to comply.

Diego smiles back, deflecting the monitor away and ticking in some commands to share access with a particular lab. While Cecil cannot see the screen, a speaker continues to play Earl’s frustrated sobs and Kevin’s voice begins a cheerful dialogue with an unseen scientist.

This Diego quiets with the twist of a knob, but he stops short of silencing the exchange. Cecil catches himself straining to hear while simultaneously trying to ignore them.

“You really were prone to one-sided conversations,” tuts the CEO, still entangled around Cecil’s base. A head rests against the PR Officer’s hip, the dark strands of hair beautiful. The coloured skin of its owner is a gorgeous shade.

Cecil latches onto these features, preparing himself to enjoy whatever comes next. It’s best if he smiles.

It’s best if he smiles.

“I’m sorry, Sir.”

“Oh, relax. I did interrupt your lunch so you must have been hungry throughout that whole exchange…”

The exchange in question continues, transmitted distantly over radio waves. Cecil nods, slipping to his knees.

“Yes, Sir.”


End file.
